


Chess

by grey_gazania



Series: Woman King [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, the piped tags are a mess and I refuse to use them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 00:24:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12445281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey_gazania/pseuds/grey_gazania
Summary: Fingolfin enjoys what will be his last moment of peace with his family.





	Chess

It was a cold, quiet night at Barad Eithel, a few days into the new year, and I was enjoying a peaceful evening with my family in the warmth and comfort of my parlor. Fingon, Ianneth, and Ereiniel had come to visit for the midwinter festival, as they often did. It was a joy to have them here. I missed Argon and Aredhel, both lost so long ago, and Turgon and Idril, hidden away in their secret city. Fingon was the only one of my children who remained in my life, and I treasured him and his wife and daughter all the more for it.

He sat across from me, frowning as he concentrated on the chessboard that lay between us. While he was brilliant on the battlefield, the finer points of chess still eluded him, though he had played countless games in his life -- not only against me, but also against his cousins and his brothers. Among his generation in our family, it was Argon and Caranthir who had truly mastered the game, not my eldest child.

Ereiniel was cross-legged on the thick carpet near our feet, amusing herself with her doll and a trio of painted wooden horses. Lalwen was keeping half an eye on her as she relaxed by the fire, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. Ianneth sat beside my sister, letting out the hem of one of Ereiniel’s skirts, for my granddaughter had grown another few inches. It seemed she was destined to be tall. That was unsurprising; physically, she took after Fingon in everything but her nose, and while he was the shortest of my three sons, he was still of an imposing height.

I moved my castle across the board. “Check and mate,” I said.

Fingon leaned back and groaned good-naturedly. “Best out of three?” he suggested.

“In a moment.” I looked down at Ereiniel. “I have something for you, starshine,” I said. When she laid her doll down and turned to look at me, I added, “I know it’s still two weeks till your begetting day, but you and your parents will be home by then, so I’d like to give it to you now.”

Over by the fire, Lalwen hid a smile behind her hand. She knew what the gift was; in fact, she had helped me think of the idea. But Fingon and Ianneth did not, and my sister and I were looking forward to seeing Fingon’s reaction almost as much as Ereiniel’s. I drew the present out from behind my chair and placed it in my granddaughter’s hands.

“Is it a book?” she asked, examining the rectangular package.

“Open it and see, love,” Ianneth said, setting her work aside.

Slowly, Ereiniel pulled the wrappings away with her small fingers. It was indeed a book, one I had had made just for her, a slim volume with a cover of blue leather and the title embossed in gold letters.

“ _Prince Fingon and the Fire-Drake_ ,” she read aloud. Then she looked up at her father with wide, shining eyes. “Ada, it’s about you! It’s about the time you fought the dragon.”

My son glanced at me with raised eyebrows before seating himself on the carpet beside his daughter. “So it is,” he said, not quite managing to conceal his own surprise. But Ereiniel didn’t notice; she had opened the book, and now she gasped with delight.

“Look!” she said. “It’s you and Pilin.”

The artist I had commissioned had done a superb job. There on the title page was a picture of Fingon, rendered in vivid colors, mounted and holding his bow. Pilin, his horse, was drawn in full detail, from the blaze on his face down to the pasterns on his back legs. Ereiniel stared at the illustration a moment longer and then, very carefully, closed the book and set it aside. Then she clambered to her feet and rushed towards me, throwing her arms around me in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you, Haru,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

I returned her embrace and then lifted her up to sit upon my knee. “You’re welcome. Your father tells me it’s your favorite bedtime story,” I said. “Now you can read it for yourself whenever you like.”

Beaming, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. She was a delight, this child, and her presence eased the ache I felt in my heart when I thought of my lost children and grandchildren.

“Pass it here, Fingon,” I said, reaching out for the book. “Ereiniel and I can read it together.”

He complied, seeming half embarrassed and half amused -- unlike Ianneth, whose amusement was clearly not leavened by any other emotions. When I glanced her way, she grinned, her green eyes sparkling with humor.

Pushing the chessmen aside, I set the book down on the table, opened it to the first page, and began to read. Though Ereiniel knew the story well, she still glowed with delight as I read, and she gasped in wonder at each sumptuous illustration.

“It’s my favorite story, Haru,” she said when I had finished, leaning back to rest her head against my chest. “Thank you.”

I kissed the top of her head and said, “Anything for my granddaughter. I love you very much, starshine.”

“I love you, too,” she said, looking up at me with adoring eyes. “Ada is very brave, isn’t he?”

“He is,” I agreed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Fingon’s cheeks turn pink. “The bravest of all the Noldor, I’d say.”

Though amusement still gleamed in her eyes, Ianneth took pity on my son. “I think it’s time for bed, love,” she said, standing and crossing the room. “Say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Haru,” Ereiniel said. “Goodnight, Aunt Lalwen. Goodnight, Ada.”

Fingon scooped her up from my lap and kissed the tip of her nose, making her giggle. “Sweet dreams, mírë,” he said, before passing her into Ianneth’s arms.

“I think I’ll turn in as well,” Lalwen said, setting down her empty teacup with a gentle _clink_ and lifting her hand to cover a yawn.

I raised my eyebrows at Fingon in a silent query, but he shook his head. “Best two out of three,” he said with a grin, claiming his seat at the table once more.

I returned his smile. “Very well,” I said. Once we both had bade Ianneth and Lalwen goodnight, I began setting up my chessmen once more. But Fingon did not join me immediately.

“‘Fingon and the Fire-Drake’? Really, Atto?” he said, mingled amusement and embarrassment once more taking up residence on his face.

“Ah, but did you see her expression?” I said, smiling at the memory. “She truly is a treasure.”

“She is,” he agreed. He lifted his queen and rolled it back and forth between his fingers. Though he was staring at the board, his mind seemed to be elsewhere, and I waited in silence for him to continue.

“You know, this wasn’t something I thought my life would hold, back in Valinor,” he finally said. “Marriage. Fatherhood. But… I am happy. Ereiniel is everything to me. I can’t imagine life without her and Ianneth.”

“I’m glad,” I said, watching him begin to set up his game pieces. I knew that marriage would not have been his choice, had we been at true peace. It was for my sake and the sake of our alliance with the Sindar that he had agreed to meet the eligible women of Hithlum. But Ianneth had stolen his heart. She was an admirable woman, wise and kind. I was glad that she was at my son’s side, and that they were happy together.

Fingon set his last piece in its place and looked up at me. “Did you feel this way about us when we were small?” he asked. “As though there would never be anything in the world more perfect than your child?”

“I still feel that way,” I said, giving him a gentle smile.

He smiled back, his cheeks turning pink once more beneath his dusting of freckles, and moved his pawn across the board, beginning the game. He played better than he had during our last match, but all the same, two hours later I had won once more, so we wished each other goodnight and sought out the warmth of our respective beds.

  


* * *

  


I was roused by a frantic pounding on my door, which crashed open before I had even finished climbing to my feet. I saw Henthael, my scribe, standing in the doorway, his face ashen in the light from the corridor.

“Sire,” he gasped, “Ard-galen is burning.”

“ _What_?” In an instant, I was on my feet and halfway into my trousers.

“It’s burning,” Henthael repeated. “The whole plain is aflame, and there are fires and fumes pouring from Thangorodrim.”

As he spoke, I realized that I could already detect a whiff of smoke in the air. “Wake Fingon,” I said. I didn’t bother to change my nightshirt for a tunic, but simply pulled on my cloak.

“I’m awake,” I heard, and a moment later Fingon stumbled into view behind Henthael.

“Wake Lalwen, then,” I ordered. “Tell her to muster the archers.”

Henthael nodded and rushed away, and Fingon and I hurried together to the fortress walls. We found the air outside already thick with acrid fumes, and I could hear the guards coughing. The horizon was lit by an ominous glow. It was difficult to tell through the smoke, but the fires seemed to be coming closer at an unnaturally rapid pace.

Morgoth had made his next move on the chessboard of Beleriand, and it was dire, as I had long feared it would be. Our long peace was broken.

  


**Author's Note:**

>  _Haru_ (Q.) - grandfather  
>  _Ada_ (S.) - dad  
>  _Atto_ (Q.) - dad  
>  _mírë_ (Q.) - treasure


End file.
